Chuck vs the PieMaker
by Notorious JMG
Summary: What happens when Sarah is given a second chance at life? Crossover with Pushing Daisies. Prelude to Chuck vs. the Past.
1. Chapter 1

_At this very moment in time, Sarah Lisa Walker is twenty-five years, four months, sixteen days, three hours, fifty-two minutes old. And she will grow no older._

"SARAH!"

He knelt next to her. "Oh, God, no…"

His older partner came running up, limping slightly. "God dammit," he muttered. "They are not gonna get away with this."

_The facts were these: young Miss Walker was an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency. Following a lead on a member of the shadowy FULCRUM sub-organization, she and her partners, human computer Charles Irving Bartowski and Major John Casey of the National Security Agency, had been led to a mysterious city in a locale known only as "Papen County" in an attempt to run down a lead._

"How can… I mean… how…"

Chuck was at a loss for words. Just an hour earlier, Sarah had been full of life and energy, ready to take on FULCRUM. Then she had touched the black Prius parked outside of the bank, and he had watched in horror as electricity arced through her body. She had been thrown across the street, her hands scorched, hair strewn in a thousand different directions.

She had had no pulse. Chuck had tried CPR. No success. The damage was just too much.

"CIA's putting up a $100,000 reward for information leading to the apprehension of the responsible parties," Casey said, hanging up his phone.

"Great," Chuck replied woodenly.

_Across town, a private investigator by the name of Emerson Cod was monitoring multiple websites, looking for unsolved murders, when he came across the posting on the C.I.A. website. Realizing what a boon it could be, he put on one of his many hand-knit scarves, and left his office, destination: the Pie-Hole._

"Hello, Emerson!" chirped the obnoxiously cheerful voice as he stepped through the door.

Emerson sighed inwardly and rolled his eyes. Olive Snook. Midget, as far as he was concerned. Perpetually bouncy. And so… BLONDE. Nice to look at, admittedly.

But he was not here to ogle Olive and her impressive assets. "Yo, Pie-Boy!" he called, ignoring the tiny woman practically bursting with excitement right beside him.

"Yes, Detective-Man?" Ned replied in a droll voice, striding out of the kitchen, hands covered in flour.

"We need to talk," Emerson said, sliding his bulk into a booth.

"Okay," Ned replied, sliding into the booth opposite Emerson, Olive sliding in beside Ned. Emerson sighed and just stared at her.

"What?" she asked, oblivious.

"Skedaddle!" Emerson snapped.

"And go do what?" Olive replied. "Do you see any customers?"

"I don't care," Emerson sighed. "Go see the head of the Lollipop Guild. Just go do it somewhere else."

_At that moment, Chuck Bartowski and John Casey were departing for the morgue, in order to provide an official identification for the coroner. Despite Chuck's grief, something had occurred to him._

"Casey?"

"Uh-huh."

"How are we supposed to provide official identification?"

"Huh?"

"Well, Sarah Walker wasn't her real name. I don't know her real name. You don't know her real name, as far as I know."

"Be that as it may, Sarah Walker was her official cover. She died while acting under that cover. As such, her death will officially be recorded as Sarah Walker. The CIA will fill in all the blanks."

_Unbeknownst to Mr. Bartowski or Major Casey, the private investigator and the pie-maker were also headed toward the morgue. A reward of $100,000 was too big a payday for Emerson and Ned to pass up._

"Major John Casey," he said, flashing his identification at the coroner. "We're here to provide official identification on the body of Sarah Walker."

"There's actually somebody back there right now," the coroner said. "Private investigator and his assistant."

"You let somebody back there with the body of a CIA agent?" Casey asked, aghast. "Are you out of your…"

But Chuck had already taken off at a dead run. He skidded into the room just in time to hear –

ZAP

– and see Sarah sit up.

The blood drained from his face. "What the hell?" he whispered.

Emerson Cod, Sarah Walker, and the pie maker all turned to see Chuck standing there. "Chuck?" Sarah exclaimed.

Chuck tried to form words, to reply to Sarah, but he could make nothing come out. So, instead, he staggered across the room, and practically fell onto Sarah, embracing her as though he would never let her go.

Chuck could detect tinges of rather disturbing smells – burnt flesh, burnt hair, ozone – but he didn't care. A great sob heaved itself through his body, as he forced words out.

"I didn't… I didn't think I'd ever see you again," he whispered. He pulled back to look Sarah in the eyes, make sure that it was actually her.

When he did, he discovered that her eyes were red and filling with tears. "I'm… I'm so sorry, Chuck," she whispered. "I…"

"It's not your fault," he said, "it was FULCRUM."

"Uh, excuse me, if I could interrupt this sobfest," came the caustic voice of Emerson Cod, "I have business to conduct.

"Who killed you?" asked Ned, looking anxiously at his watch.

"I can't tell you," Sarah replied.

"Excuse me?" Emerson said.

"It's a matter of national security," she replied. "I know who killed me, but I can't tell you."

"Fifteen seconds," Ned said, as Casey finally found his way into the room.

"Fifteen seconds?" Chuck asked. "What does that mean?"

"That's how much time he has to figure out who killed her before he has to touch her again and send her back to the big James Brown show in the sky," Emerson snarked.

"What?" Casey asked. "Are you telling me…"

"I touch a dead person, I bring them to life. I touch them a second time, I send them back. I only have one minute that I can keep them alive," Ned replied. "Ten seconds."

It took Chuck just a few milliseconds to process this information, and before he even realized what he was doing, he had snatched Casey's gun from the holster on his hip, and had the muzzle pressed against the center of Ned's forehead.

"You touch her again," he said with a voice like ice, "I will blow your brains all over the refrigerator behind you."

Emerson's face went several shades lighter. "Aw hell, not again," he moaned, taking off at a dead run.

Ned's watch ticked down. Five… four… three… two… one…

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

_Emerson Cod was not a small man, nor was he a fast one. But at this moment, he was moving through the halls of the Papen County Morgue with all the power and tenacity of a diesel locomotive._

_For you see, approximately fifty-two seconds earlier, the pie-maker had applied his magic touch to a young CIA agent by the name of Sarah Walker. Unfortunately, before he could apply the touch again, another agent named Charles Bartowski had burst into the room, pulled a gun on Ned, and threatened to "blow his brains all over the refrigerator" behind him should he touch Ms. Walker again._

_Unfortunately, what Mr. Bartowski did not know was that if the pie-maker failed to touch the revived body again within a minute, another person within the general proximity would have to die in the newly reborn person's place. Thus, Emerson Cod, fearing for his life, had run from the room as quickly as he could._

"If you like your life, I would highly suggest you shift your ass!" Emerson Cod bellowed as he barged into the lobby of the morgue.

The coroner looked up at him, saw the fear written all over Emerson's face, and asked no questions – he just stood up and ran like hell.

_As they emerged from the front door of the morgue, Emerson saw a rather enraging sight – a young punk, wearing a hooded sweatshirt, attempting to jimmy the lock on the door of his beloved Lincoln Continental. Emerson momentarily forgot his fear for his life._

"Hey, bitch, hands off the car!" Emerson yelled, sounding approximately like a wounded moose.

The punk turned to look at Emerson – and promptly dropped dead.

_Emerson Cod suddenly felt conflicting feelings. Should he be enraged at the impulsive CIA agent for causing a death and jeopardizing his own well-being? Or should he be thankful that the agent had prevented the theft of his pride and joy, his very own hooptie?_

"Huh," Emerson said. He walked up to the punk, and then his rage overtook him. "You think you can break into a man's car?" he shouted, kicking the corpse. "Any punkass can break into a car, but it takes a real little bitch to break into a man's ride! BOY!"

He paused for breath. "You need a role model!"

And with that, Emerson stalked back into the morgue, leaving a very confused coroner to collect the curbside corpse.

_Emerson had been like a locomotive when departing the morgue. Now, as he re-entered the room wherein Charles Bartowski held the pie-maker at gunpoint, he could be more closely approximated to a bull moose in mating season._

Emerson had both guns out as he burst through the door. "Drop the gun, Whitey!" he boomed.

Chuck Bartowski took one look at him and immediately complied, Casey's Glock clattering to the floor. He backed up, keeping himself in front of Sarah.

"No need to worry about re-deading her," Emerson snarked, turning his attention to Ned. "There's a dead car thief on the curb. Of course, we are gonna need to do some SERIOUS persuading to get Dead Girl Number Two out of here."

He turned to John Casey. "You look like a government freak. How much cash you got on you?"

Casey just stared at him for a moment, and then spoke. "Uh, probably about five grand. Why?"

Emerson's eyebrows practically crawled up his forehead, like caterpillars, when Casey said "five grand", but he quickly regained himself. "Like I said, there's a coroner out there who needs some serious persuading."

Casey growled something unintelligible, turned and glared at Chuck and Sarah, growled some more, and then reached in his pocket for his wallet.

Chuck had to help Sarah walk, as she was still somewhat weak on her feet – she might have been alive again, but her nervous system was still trying to shake off the effects of 40,000 volts coursing through her body just a couple of hours beforehand.

The coroner was entering the lobby of the morgue with the body of the car thief as the ragtag group passed through. "What the hell was that all about?" he muttered under his breath as Emerson drew within earshot.

"I don't know what you're talking about, and neither do you," Emerson replied darkly, slipping Casey's five grand to the coroner as they passed each other.

"Spend it wisely, deathmonger," Casey growled, stalking out the door.

_And so the motley crew of spies realized that they needed to do a little bit of cover-up, and who better to assist than the local private investigators whom they had happened upon. At the suggestion of Emerson Cod, they chose to retire to the Pie Hole, where they would all get their stories straight… and where Sarah would learn that she was not alone._

* * *

**_Update 12/25/07: _Chuck vs. the Pie-Maker will return after the New Year.**


	3. Chapter 3

**See, I told you I'd be back!**

* * *

_At this very moment, a suspicious looking black car sat outside the Papen County Morgue. A Crown Victoria Police Interceptor, it was most out of place in a town that still used 1980s Chevrolet Caprices for police cars._

_Inside the car sat four men – one by the name of Francis Xavier Mullins, and his subordinates, known simply as Two, Four, and Six. They knew that the corpse of Agent Sarah Walker lay inside the morgue, and they were simply waiting for their chance to grasp Charles __Bartowski_

"You're sure Walker's dead?" Mullins asked anxiously.

"No doubt," Four replied. "She touched the Prius, and I activated the defense system. It blew her across the street."

No sooner had he said this, than the door to the morgue opened, and who should walk out but Sarah Walker, supported by Chuck Bartowski and John Casey.

"Yep, she looks REAL dead," Six cracked.

"Crap," Mullins muttered. "Crap, poo, ding-a-long doggy doo!"

The other three looked at him curiously. "It's this damn town," he rationalized. "It's starting to get to me. All the bright colors, and weird people – it's like we're in a friggin' Doctor Seuss book."

_Mullins' momentary lapse in his profane vocabulary had given the intelligence agents a window – unbeknownst to them – to get into Emerson Cod's car, without Mullins and his cohorts noticing. When Mullins finally realized that Sarah Walker, Charles __Bartowski__, and John Casey were no longer on the sidewalk, there was nothing to see but Emerson Cod's taillights fading into the distance, and then disappearing around a corner._

"I hate this assignment," Mullins fumed. "I hate that that little Munchkin pied us. I hate that she sent us to the wrong damn Chuck. I hate that Bartowski kid, and I really hate Walker. I will have my revenge on her someday, you just see if I don't."

_As Frank Mullins stewed like an overgrown roast, Emerson threaded his way through town toward the Pie Hole. Ned sat up front, with a warning from Chuck that should he even consider coming within a yard of Sarah, Chuck would arrange for his testicles to become friends with his tonsils._

"Well, there ya go," Ned said sarcastically. "Violence. Answer to everything."

"It's the answer to plenty, as far as I'm concerned," Casey snarked.

"And that's what's wrong with this country," Ned shot back. "So violent, so gun-ridden – think of all that money that's being spent on Iraq, how much more good it could do back home."

Casey had fixed Ned with a stone cold glare at this point, but Ned didn't notice. Sarah and Chuck nervously watched as he built up steam.

"And you know, you intelligence agents don't help either, running around, being all big and bad and… and Bondish, and it just makes me sick that you people are allowed to run aro-"

_Ned suddenly found himself staring down the business end of a forty-five caliber __Glock__ G.A.P. Power Trio gun. John Casey had come to the end of his rope, and was now showing Ned what the end of that rope looked like. Or at least, that's what he thought, until Emerson Cod interfered._

"Put the gun away, crazy cracker," Emerson said from the front seat. He held in his hand a nine millimeter Walther pistol that, while small, still looked like a bazooka when held three centimeters from John Casey's eye.

"I might be driving, but I can shoot the antenna off a fly from a hundred yards without looking," Emerson continued, keeping his eyes on the road. "Now remove the gun from my business associates face. Only polite people ride in my car, so unless you'd like to get out and walk…"

Slowly, Casey put his gun away. Emerson withdrew his hand and holstered his gun as well. Then, with no warning, he reached over and smacked Ned in the back of the head.

"What the hell is wrong with you, boy!" he hollered. "You don't tell a military veteran to his face what a bunch of screwups they are!"

"How'd you know I was military?" Casey asked quietly.

_Is that fear I see on his face?_ Chuck asked himself.

"You carry yourself like military," Emerson replied. "That, and I heard you call yourself 'Major' to the coroner."

_By this point, they had reached the Pie Hole. Emerson__ carefully__ parked __his pride and joy__ curbside, and they all piled out of the car, though Chuck was careful to hold Sarah back until Ned was well away from the car. As they walked up to the Pie Hole, they heard what __was certainly a howl of dismay come from__ inside._

"What the hell happened?" Ned moaned as Chuck and Sarah came in the door.

_What the hell, indeed. Strings of dough were scattered haphazardly throughout the Pie Hole. Fruit – whole and smashed – littered the floor. A significant explosion of flour seemed to have __coated the entire bakery case in a fine white powder. It almost seemed as though zoo animals had been let loose inside the pie-maker's domain_.

"OLIVE!" Ned bellowed.

Olive's head popped up from behind the case. "Uh… hi?"

"What the HELL happened?" Ned growled, stalking toward her.

"I'm not sure…" Olive replied uncertainly, trying to back away from Ned.

Ned's glare grew more intense, and then suddenly, he stopped. He took a deep breath, looked at the ground, and then back at Olive.

"What was it, Olive?" he asked pleadingly. "Was it monkeys? Some terrifying pie monkeys maybe got loose?"

"No," Olive replied earnestly. "These four men, they came with guns, and they told me they were going to shoot me if I didn't tell them were to find Chuck, and so I told them –"

"You told them where to find Chuck?!" Ned shouted. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

"What does it matter to you?" Casey asked. "You just met the guy!"

"What?" Ned whirled, confused. "Oh, right. No, not you. I could care less about you."

"Oh, gee, thanks," Chuck replied as Ned turned back to face Olive.

"If you'd kindly let me finish," Olive grumped, "I told them that she was at the library. Which is where she was. And then, they told me they were going to shoot me anyway, so I threw dough and fruit and a whole bag of flour at them, and they eventually left."

"You still told them where she was!" Ned practically whimpered.

"Ned?" came a voice from the door. "What happened?!"

Ned turned to see Charlotte "Chuck" Charles standing in the doorway of the Pie Hole. "Chuck!" he shouted, running to her.

_As the pie maker ran, Charles __Bartowski__ realized that his current trajectory would cause him to intersect with Sarah Walker's position in under a second. And so, without thinking, Charles __Bartowski__ hurled himself at Sarah Walker, twisting her away from the pie maker as he did so._

Ned, having been reunited with Chuck after that brief scare, came skidding to a stop mere inches from her. Suddenly realizing that he had dashed to her side and was now unable to do anything further, they just stood their awkwardly, oblivious to what was going on closer to the bakery case.

Chuck Bartowski had landed with a hard thud, Sarah on top of him. He had been knocked out for the briefest of seconds, but came to when Sarah slapped him lightly on the cheek. "Oh, hi there," he said woozily, opening his eyes.

"Are you okay?" she asked with concern.

"Yeah, I'm… whoa…"

Chuck tried to sit up, but found himself dizzy. "I think I'm going to lie back down," he whispered, returning his head to the floor.

"I knew you weren't okay," Sarah said anxiously. Still sitting on his stomach, she leaned over him to check the back of his head. This afforded Chuck a direct view down the front of Sarah's shirt. His eyes went wide as he got a free show… and then his vision went double… and then his vision went completely black.


	4. Chapter 4

"Chuck… Chuck! Wake up, Chuck!"

Chuck slowly swam upward toward consciousness. His eyes cracked open, and he saw two blurry John Caseys looking down at him.

"Hi, Casey," he slurred drunkenly. "Did you know that Sarah has really big boobs?"

_The NSA Agent looked upward, then to the right at Sarah Walker, whose face had taken on a look of pure astonishment. Unbidden, his eyes flicked downward toward Sarah's chest. Her look of astonishment changed to a look of annoyance. _

"Move," she growled, pushing Casey out of the way.

As Chuck's senses returned, he realized that Sarah was now standing above him, and also what he had just said out loud. "Aw, crap, I said that out loud, didn't I?" he muttered.

Choosing the better part of valor over the shallow comments and actions of the two men, Sarah pressed on. "How's your head, Chuck?" she asked, concern clearly present in her voice.

"It's felt better," he replied. "What happe… oh, yeah."

Turning his head, he winced, the motion making his brain feel like it was rattling about in his skull. "You," he said, pointing at Ned. "You need to be more careful when you're around people you've brou-"

He was cut off suddenly as a strange woman covered his mouth with her hand. "You can't say anything," she whispered in his ear. She pointed at the short blonde woman who Ned had called "Olive." "Olive doesn't know."

Chuck nodded, and the woman removed her hand from his mouth. "My name's Charlotte Charles, but people call me Chuck," she said, extending her hand.

Chuck unsteadily got to his feet. "Charles Bartowski," he replied. "People call me Chuck too."

"So I gathered," she replied. "I will say, this could get confusing real quick."

"Not as far as I'm concerned," Casey cracked. "I'll just call him Ugly Chuck."

"Because you have so much room to talk," Sarah Walker snarked at him. "Moving on… Chuck, how are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," he said. "I feel a little dizzy… but otherwise okay."

"I think perhaps we all need to sit down and have a little chat," the voice of Emerson Cod drifted into the conversation. "It sounds like our stories are all interconnected-like, and we should probably figure out how this all works."

"Agreed," Ned said.

"Oooh, do I get to play too?" Olive Snook asked, the glee evident in her voice.

"No," Ned and Emerson boomed simultaneously.

"I need you to clean the place up," Ned continued. "Make it look like it did before the terrifying pie monkeys came to play."

_And so, Olive Snook found herself not only shut out of the conversation, but once again, spurned by the Pie Maker. She had found that her interaction with him had been cut to a minimum as of late. Was it perhaps due to her harboring of Chuck whilst she was upset with Ned? Or was she simply being punished for defending herself in an unorthodox manner against the rather unfriendly men of Fulcrum?_

Emerson seated himself in his customary booth by the window. Sarah started to slide in after him, but Emerson stopped her.

"Uh-uh," he said. "I do not share a booth with the undead. Both of y'all can sit on the other side."

"Both?" Chuck and Sarah echoed, the two women looking at each other.

"Wait a second," Sarah said.

"Are you telling me –" Chuck was interrupted.

"He brought you back –" Sarah replied.

"Why didn't he touch you again –"

"I had a gun the size of a sixteen inch cannon from the USS _Iowa_ to my head, that's why!" Ned snapped. "And to answer your as yet unasked question, the person who died was a car thief who was trying to steal Emerson's car."

"That doesn't make it any better!" Chuck replied, her voice taking on a tone of disapproval. "Somebody still had to die!"

"Uh, that would be my fault," Chuck Bartowski said sheepishly. "When he brought her back, there was no way I could let him kill her again, so I held a gun to his head and threatened to kill him if he even tried it. I didn't know that somebody else within the general proximity would die."

"But wait," Sarah said. "He brought you back, too?"

"Yeah," Chuck replied. "I was killed on a cruise –"

"Oh yeah!" Chuck Bartowski interrupted. "I knew you looked familiar! You're the Lonely Tourist!"

Chuck sighed in disgust. "You see?" she snapped at Emerson. "I TOLD you that's how everybody was going to remember me! Lonely Tourist Charlotte Charles. I'm so sick of that!"

She took a moment, and breathed deep. "Sorry. Anyway. Ned brought me back to life to try to figure out who killed me, but when he saw me alive, he couldn't bring himself to send me back, and, well, now I guess I'm kind of… well…"

"You're his girlfriend," Emerson huffed. "Good Lord, are you two lovestruck or just stupid?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Casey said, a look of confusion on his face. "If you're his girlfriend… but he can't touch you, lest you die again… then, how do you… well…"

"Casey!" Sarah admonished him.

"Don't ask," Emerson interjected. "You so do not want to know."

"Let's just say it involves Saran Wrap," Chuck giggled.

"Okay, really, that was far more than I needed to know," Chuck Bartowski objected, getting up from the table. "Seriously. Can we stop talking about the sexual habits of the undead and try to figure out what the hell's going on?"

_Chuck returned to his seat at the table, and the six commenced discussing the truth of the matters at hand. It was quickly determined that the men of Fulcrum had found Charlotte Charles, discovered that she was the wrong Chuck, and had threatened to return to kill her if they didn't find Chuck Bartowski. This simply served to increase the Pie Maker's animosity toward the agents from Los Angeles, leading him to feel that their presence was solely responsible for Chuck's life being in danger._

"That could've gone better," Chuck said, as he stood outside, watching the snow fall.

Sarah had joined him outside. Casey was inside, on the phone with area hotels, trying to find a room.

"Yes, well," Sarah replied. "I think it would've been better if I hadn't died five minutes into the mission. Things wouldn't be quite so sticky now."

"It wasn't your fault," Chuck said immediately. "There's no way you could've known that that Prius would zap you."

"No, but I shouldn't have just walked up and grabbed the handle," Sarah said, frustration creeping into her voice. "It's bad form for an intelligence agent. I just feel like I've been off my game lately. This whole Fulcrum thing has me on edge… I still feel confused about Bryce…"

She turned to Chuck, and as she spoke, a frustrated laugh escaped underneath her words. "And let me tell you, this whole 'just friends' thing isn't exactly a walk in the park!"

Chuck turned to look at her, confusion evident on his face. "I… I'm not quite sure I follow," he said.

Sarah put her hands on her hips and puffed her breath out through pursed lips. "Look," she started, "in case you haven't figured it out… I do, actually, like you. When I kissed you at the San Pedro Docks – yes, it was largely because I thought we were going to die. However, it wasn't because you were the only pair of available lips – it was because I didn't want to die without having let you know in some way how I felt about you."

Chuck couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And then, when Bryce showed up, it totally screwed my head up," Sarah continued. "But as much as I still had feelings for Bryce, I had moved on from him, and I couldn't let myself just go back. That actually had a lot to do with why my alarm clock got murdered – I couldn't sleep that whole night, and when it went off – well, I just kind of snapped."

Chuck smiled. "I sort of thought it might've had something to do with that," he said. "But that still doesn't explain…"

"When I walked into the Buy More Christmas party –"

"Holiday party," Chuck automatically corrected her, not even realizing what he was doing.

"Whatever. The Festivus party. When I walked in… I was half hoping you were going to try to convince me that we should be more than just friends…"

Chuck looked at Sarah and sighed. "There is very little I would like more than that," he said. "But it just wouldn't work right now."

Sarah's face seemed to drop a little, and she cast her eyes down for a moment. "I know," she responded quietly, looking back up. "But… it's just so frustrating sometimes, not having somebody to be with… I mean, when Charlotte Charles mentioned Saran Wrap… the places my mind went…"

Chuck's eyebrows shot up like a rocket. "Ooookay!" he said, backing away from Sarah. "Just friends, crazy woman!"

"I know that," she replied, laughing. "But I'm pretty sure that as your friend, I'm still entitled to a hug when I've spent the day dying, being brought back to life, and having to deal with a somewhat… quirky… town."

"Well, I SUPPOSE," Chuck said, stepping back forward.

_As Charles Bartowski embraced Sarah Walker, it seemed for a moment that all was well. But they did not go unwatched._

_From the window of the restaurant, Charlotte Charles saw them embrace. She sighed, wishing that Ned was able to do that for her._

_From the window of her apartment, Olive Snook saw them embrace. She too sighed, wishing that anybody would do that for her – preferably the Pie Maker, although she didn't mind the looks of this Charles fellow._

_And from the black Crown Victoria parked a block away, Frank Mullins saw them embrace. He too sighed, rolling his eyes, and asking once again why, oh why, he had drawn this ungodly assignment._

Looking nervously at his Seussian surroundings, Mullins spoke to nobody in particular.

"I do not like green eggs and ham… I do not like them, Sam I Am."


	5. Chapter 5

_The intelligence agents had long since departed the Pie Hole. The bakery-cum-restaurant was dark and quiet, save for a small team of NSA agents which John Casey had requested to keep watch, lest the men of Fulcrum decide to return for Charlotte Charles._

_The pie-maker had retired to his upstairs apartment, sleeping once again in a bed separate from the woman with whom he had fallen in love. She was especially quiet this evening, her mind seemingly elsewhere. Earlier that evening, she had pleaded with the pie-maker to put on his bee-keeper's suit, for the express purpose of her being able to receive a simple hug. He had been happy to oblige, but he was not happy with the current state of affairs._

"Chuck," Ned said softly.

"Yes?" she replied, her back to him.

"Are you alright?"

She rolled over, and smiled at him sadly. "I could be better," she admitted. "I just all of a sudden have this longing for you to touch me."

"Even though I killed your father."

"Would you stop saying that?" Chuck said, sitting up. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have possibly known, and every time you say it, it just reminds me."

"Sorry," Ned replied. "Okay, so you have this longing for me to touch you."

"More than just touch me," Chuck whispered absently.

_Meanwhile, across town, the only hotel that John Casey had been able to find two rooms at had been the Papen Days Inn. He had, amazingly, been a gentleman for once and offered the room with a single king bed to Sarah Walker, but she had declined, choosing instead to stay in the room with two beds with Chuck Bartowski._

_Her reasoning had been that should she have trouble falling asleep, she would like to have somebody to speak with, and with no offense to John Casey, she found Chuck to be a better conversation companion. However, her real reasoning for being in the same room as Chuck was just now taking hold…_

Sarah's sleep was not the peaceful sleep of a calm woman. It had taken her nearly two hours of tossing and turning to finally fall asleep, and initially that sleep was restless. Finally, she had fallen into a deep sleep, but it was a disturbed sleep.

At first, she had a dream that repeated itself, in several variations. She dreamed she was approaching the Toyota Prius that had killed her. The first few times, she found herself touching it, and getting blown across the street by the electric shock, as had truly happened. But then, she found that she was able to open the door, only to find a myriad of horrors inside – a man with a gun, a man with a knife, a snarling, vicious dog, John Casey with a bullet in his head.

From there, the dreams grew even worse. Various missions she had undertaken since meeting Chuck began to play through her head, except they were of the "what if this had failed" variety.

She dreamed of being chased through the streets of West Hollywood by John Casey, except when Chuck told her to go left, she had gone right. The Herder had plunged from an overpass to a freeway below, and exploded, killing them both. Then she dreamed of when Chuck defused the bomb at the symposium with the General – except he didn't defuse it in time.

She dreamed of the helicopter crashing and burning, Chuck trapped inside. She dreamed that she hadn't been in time to stop La Ciudad. That Peyman Alahi had simply put a bullet in Chuck's head. That Ben Lo Pan had tortured and executed both her and Casey. That the Herder had exploded under the Santa Monica Pier.

The dreams began to get worse. She dreamed that the Stanford student hadn't reached Chuck in time, and that Sarah had had to watch as the Icelandic assassin put a crossbow bolt through his chest. She dreamed that she, Casey, and Chuck had all been overcome by the pentothal toxin before they could reach the antidote. She dreamed that as she kissed Chuck in San Pedro, Bryce's cryo-chamber really was a bomb, and it exploded.

The worst one, though, seemingly got stuck, and it just kept repeating. She dreamed that when she and Bryce had found Chuck, captive of Fulcrum in the Buy More, and Bryce had shot Chuck, Chuck hadn't actually been wearing a bulletproof vest. The bullet penetrated his heart, killing him instantly.

This scenario kept playing out in her unconscious mind, but it kept twisting itself and getting worse. The last time it played through, Bryce walked up to Chuck, stuck the gun against his chest, and pulled the trigger. Then, he turned around to face Sarah, and started laughing maniacally. At this point, her mind totally lost control. In her dreams, she attacked Bryce and let loose the scream of the insane –

And sat bolt upright in her bed.

The light snapped on, and she whipped her head to the right to see Chuck, awake in the other bed, staring at her wide-eyed. Her breath came in rapid gasps, and it took a moment for her to calm down as the fear receded.

"Good Lord, are you alright?" Chuck asked, concern in his voice.

Sarah didn't respond. She just crawled out of her bed, crossed to his bed, and sat down next to him. She wrapped her arms around Chuck's neck, and buried her face in his shoulder.

"Hey, it's okay, everything's alright," Chuck said soothingly, though he was, in reality, confused as hell. The thought _Has Sarah totally lost it?_ crossed unbidden through his mind as he embraced the troubled CIA agent.

It was disturbing, even a little unnerving, to see Sarah in this sort of shape. She was supposed to be the strong, stable one, the CIA agent who could handle anything, and here she was, like a frightened little girl, scared into Chuck's arms by some nightmare or other.

Chuck let her stay there for a few minutes, just holding her, before he spoke. "We should probably both get back to bed," he said softly. "It's very, very late."

"I know," Sarah replied, the first words she had spoken since screaming herself into wakefulness. "But…"

She hesitated, as if trying to put together a sentence that would work, not sound awkward, not make her feel stupid. "Chuck, you don't have to remind me, we're just friends and all, but it would make me feel better if I could sleep in the same bed as you tonight. I promise I'll stay on my own side, I won't get too close or anything like that."

"Yeah, of course!" Chuck said – maybe a little too quickly. "If it keeps you from having any more of the nightmares you were clearly having, absolutely."

"Thank you, Chuck."

_And so, the now-quite-vulnerable CIA agent bundled herself up in the covers on one side of the queen-sized bed, while the man with the computer in his head retreated to the other side of the bed. A veritable chasm of sheets and mattress dipped between them, something Chuck considered to be an oddly appropriate metaphor as he drifted off to sleep._

_On the other side of town, however, another individual was not so fortunate. The pie maker found himself unable to sleep, but too tired to wander. And so he just lay in his bed, staring across the room…_

_It simply isn't fair_, Ned thought. _Another person brought back from the dead, another person had to die in her place_.

_And it wasn't as though he didn't understand. Ned understood exactly what Charles Bartowski's motivations had been – after all, hadn't Ned himself done almost the same thing with Chuck, short of, perhaps, the gratuitous violence and threats of death?_

_Ned certainly couldn't blame Charles – Sarah Walker was a very attractive young woman, she seemed like a truly very nice person, and he could tell from the way he looked at her that there was definitely something special between them. The thing was, he couldn't tell exactly what was there – from what he could tell, aside from the occasional hug, Chuck Bartowski touched Sarah Walker only a little more than Ned was able to touch his own Chuck – that being never._

_Nonetheless, he was still unhappy about another unnecessary death. What was worse was the cavalier fashion in which Emerson had treated it. Yes, perhaps Emerson had caught the young man trying to break into his car, and perhaps the young man's removal from society wasn't a total loss, but this was still an individual who had been cut down in the prime of his life._

_And yet, Ned found that more than that, he was upset about the fact that Chuck Bartowski could have contact with Sarah Walker, and it was clear that he wanted to have contact with her, and yet didn't. For somebody like Ned, who couldn't have contact with Chuck Charles at all, it was aggravating, and even a little bit infuriating._

_Little did he know, though, that certain amounts of contact were occurring – albeit unconsciously. As the sun rose over Papen County, an awkward discovery was about to be made._

As the sunlight began to make its way into the east side of the Days Inn, the shafts of light played across Sarah's face, bringing her to wakefulness. Coming to consciousness, she realized she wasn't in exactly the same position as she was when she went to sleep the night before.

Rather than being on the opposite side of the bed from Chuck, she was now in the middle of the bed. Sarah was lying on her side, in a spoon position, nestled against Chuck, his arm wrapped around her midsection.

Instead of moving away from him, however, she just continued to lay there, a small smile on her face. After a few minutes, she could feel him beginning to stir. "Good morning," she said softly.

"'morn'n'," he grunted, although he didn't seem to realize the position he was in.

Sarah turned her head slightly to the right, so that she was partially facing Chuck. With a bit of evil humor behind her voice, she teased him, "Now, I thought we were supposed to just be friends, mister!"

The words pierced through the haze of sleepiness and caused his eyes to fly open. "Oh jeez," he said, rolling away from Sarah. A look of disappointment briefly flashed across her face, but she wiped it away and turned to face him.

"I am so sorry," he apologized. Sarah cocked her head and looked at him. He had a look of utter embarrassment on his face, which for some reason fit right in with the way his hair was sticking up in seventy-three different directions.

"Don't be," she replied, laughing softly. "I'm the one who invaded your bed, and you know what? I slept like a baby these last few hours."

"Oh," Chuck said. He just sat there for a moment, opened his mouth a few times, but never actually said anything. Finally, he said, "I'm going to take a shower. I'll be out in a few minutes."

_As Chuck headed through the bathroom door, Sarah had to fight a completely irrational urge to jump up and run into the bathroom with him._

"Get a grip, woman," she muttered to herself.

_This was starting to greatly bother Sarah. How in heaven's name was she supposed to complete this mission if she kept having to fight irrational urges to jump Chuck?_

_It had to be an after-effect from the electrocution and subsequent resurrection. No matter what it was, though, it was going to have to stop._

_Or at least be curbed._

_Or at least, she was going to have to consider curbing it._

_Maybe._

_Maybe tomorrow._


	6. Chapter 6

I'd like to apologize for the fact that it's been three weeks since the last time I updated this story... my life's been a little nuts lately, and quite honestly, working in Phoenix in the hospitality industry right now is a little insane, what with the Superbowl coming up here this coming weekend.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and as always, reviews are welcome!

* * *

_As the morning continued forward, across town from where the intelligence agent sat in a hotel, her mind adrift in a sea of confusion, two women were preparing to begin the day at the Pie Hole._

_Charlotte Charles and Olive Snook, having bonded over their late night mischief at Bitter Sweets, quite possibly worked better together in the kitchen than any other two pie makers in the history of pie making. Of course, it might be difficult to find any well-known pie making duos, but that fact remains irrelevant in the face of such extraordinary camaraderie._

_Of course, the bond had only been strengthened by Ned's truly insensitive way of revealing his deepest secret to Chuck. Olive had harbored Chuck after she discovered the true nature of her father's death, and had, in fact, grown warmer to Chuck as of late than she was to Ned._

_None of this mattered, however, to the two armed bastards who were about to come bursting through the door of the Pie Hole…_

Chuck had just finished rolling out a large sheet of pie dough, and Olive was preparing the fruit filling for the pie, when the front doors of the Pie Hole crashed open. Two men burst in, guns in their hands.

"Don't move!" one of them yelled, seeming to try to fake a Manchester accent. "You're surrounded by armed bastards!"

The two women looked up at the men, a look of determination crossing Chuck's face and one of disbelief crossing Olive's. "My God," Olive said, "I really hope that wasn't supposed to be your Gene Hunt impression, because if so, let me tell you something – you've got NOTHING on Philip Glenister, boyo."

The man looked at her, confusion crossing his face. "What the hell are you gibbering on about, tiny?"

Rage flashed across Olive's face. "Don't call me tiny, bitch," she snarled, a large knife seemingly appearing out of nowhere in her hand.

"Drop the knife, TINY," he replied, a caustic laugh tinging his voice.

The unmistakable ratchet of a pump shotgun interrupted his concentration. "I think she can hold onto her knife all she wants," Chuck informed them, the shotgun held in her very steady hands.

The eyes of the two men from Fulcrum went very wide as they put their hands in the air, weapons clattering to the floor. "Good," Chuck said. "Now, step toward the counter."

"Don't listen to her," came a male voice from behind them. The two women whirled to see Frank Mullins approaching them from behind, a gun in each hand, aimed at their foreheads.

"Dammit," Chuck breathed. "And I was doing so good."

"Shotgun, knife on the counter," Mullins said. As Chuck and Olive complied, the two Fulcrum men known as Two and Six retrieved their weapons and trained them on the women once more.

_Now, if one thing had become abundantly clear to Charlotte Charles in the past few months, it was that the Pie Maker had absolutely disastrous timing in just about every aspect of his life. That had not changed for this morning, as she saw him come staggering through the kitchen, sleep still filling his eyes. Her attempts to communicate with her eyes that Ned should disappear as quickly as possible were, unfortunately, an utter failure._

"Whas goin' on here?" Ned slurred as he came through the kitchen.

Mullins whirled, aiming both guns at Ned. Ned's eyes went wide, sleep immediately banished, and his hands flew up in the air.

"Perhaps… I don't want to know?" Ned's voice quavered as he began to back slowly away – toward the shotgun mounted in the pantry. The shotgun that he wasn't even sure would work – it had been placed there when he opened the Pie Hole, never removed, never cleaned.

"Don't move another inch, pie-boy," Mullins snapped.

The front door crashed open again. "What the hell?!" The voice of Emerson Cod boomed through the bakery as he grabbed for his gun. Two, turning quickly to face Emerson, squeezed off a pair of shots, the bullets hitting Emerson in his right shoulder and sending him crashing to the ground.

"CEASE FIRE!" Mullins yelled. "STOP SHOOTING!"

Mullins turned back to face Ned again. "Here's the deal, my pie-making friend," he sneered caustically. "We're going to take Ms. Charles and Ms. Snook for a little ride. If you want to ever see them again, you're going to call up Agents Bartowski, Casey, and Walker, and convince them to turn the Intersect over to us."

He paused, looking briefly at Emerson. "You might want to see about getting your pal there patched up, but you'll have to do it in a manner that doesn't involve calling 911. I have a man nearby monitoring all phone calls – yes, that's both landlines and cell phones – in a one mile radius. If he detects you calling anybody OTHER than one of the three agents I just named, we will kill these two."

"I've been dead before," Chuck said flippantly, but Olive's face went pale, her eyes went wide, and then she crashed to the floor. Mullins rolled his eyes.

"Pick her up," he muttered. Six moved quickly to comply, and Mullins moved forward, grabbing Chuck's arm.

"Remember what I said," Mullins called as the Fulcrum men exited the Pie Hole, Chuck in his tow and Olive tossed over Six's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "No calls to anybody but Bartowski, Casey, or Walker, or these two will be as thoroughly cooked as one of your delectable pies."

Ned watched helplessly as Chuck was shoved into the car waiting at the curb, and Olive was unceremoniously dumped into the trunk. As the car pulled away from the curb, Emerson came to and struggled to a sitting position.

"Ow! Motherf-" Emerson's cry of pain was cut off by Ned as he came around the end of the counter.

"Emerson, they've taken Chuck and Olive. They said they're going to kill them."

Emerson raised an eyebrow. "Is this supposed to inspire feelings of regret or sadness within me?"

Ned gave him a filthy look. "Oh, alright, you big baby," Emerson groaned. "First things first. I got two bullets in me. Can we possibly get me to a hospital?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ned muttered.

_Emerson Cod, private investigator and bullet receptacle, was loaded very carefully into Ned's Mercedes-Benz. As Ned drove, he dialed the Days Inn, asking for John Casey. He quickly explained the situation to Major Casey, whose voice indicated nothing but that he had just woken. With the promise to get back to Ned as soon as he had briefed the other two, Casey disconnected._

As Chuck Bartowski exited the bathroom, a vicious pounding sounded on the hotel room door. It so startled him that he dropped his towel, leaving himself naked, just as Sarah turned to the door in response to the pounding.

Sarah and Chuck made eye contact, Chuck realizing that he was naked as the day he was born. They both turned bright red, Sarah's mouth forming a soundless "Oh, my," as the thoroughly embarrassed Chuck dove back into the bathroom, the door slamming behind him.

Sarah took a moment to compose herself before answering the door. John Casey burst in like a hurricane on steroids.

"Where's Bartowski?" he demanded.

"In here."

"Well, get your skinny little chicken neck out here!" Casey ordered him.

"I'm kind of naked, and all my clothes are out there," Chuck replied. "As is my towel."

"For Christ's sake," Casey muttered, rolling his eyes. He bent down, picked up Chuck's towel, opened the bathroom door, and threw the towel in Chuck's general direction, before slamming the door shut again.

He then turned his attention to Sarah. "And exactly what was he doing out here naked, Agent Walker?"

Sarah gave him what could only be described as a "LOOK". With an exasperated sigh, she said, "He had just stepped out of the bathroom, in the towel, and when you attempted to reshape the door with your fist, he got startled and dropped the towel."

"Suuuure," Casey smirked lecherously. "You positive that was all that was going on?"

Sarah sighed, and from within the bathroom, they heard Chuck faintly mutter, "Only in my wildest dreams."

Sarah's face turned bright red again, and Casey's smile grew larger, as he informed Chuck, "We can hear you out here, Chuckles."

There was an awkward silence for a moment, as Sarah retreated to the other side of the room. Finally, Casey said, "We need to get a move on, Chuck. I just got a call from Ned – apparently, Fulcrum has abducted Charlotte Charles and Olive Snook, and they want the Intersect in return."

"They can't have the Intersect!" Chuck called back.

"No shit, Sherlock," Casey snarked. "I was more thinking we find them and get the women back, yes?"

"Okay, fine," Chuck replied. "But, could, uh, you and Sarah wait outside for a moment? I need to get dressed."

Casey sighed. "Alright. Walker and I will be outside."

Sarah stood silently, and walked to the door. Opening it, she stepped out into the hallway, and then her face took on a look of surprise as Casey slammed it back closed behind her, an evil smile growing on his face.

Hearing the door close, Chuck opened the bathroom door, and stepped out.

"Ah, the Intersect, in all its glory," Casey chuckled.

Chuck whirled round, covering himself, his eyes gone wide. "You're insane!" he shouted. "Get out! What the hell is wrong with you?! Get the fuck out!"

Laughing, Casey opened the door, and stepped out in the hallway, to be met with a glare of death from Sarah Walker.

"You really are an ass, you know that?" she said angrily.

Casey cocked his head, a smirk on his face. "All in a day's work for the NSA."


	7. Chapter 7

_As we rejoin our heroes, there are a few things of which you should likely be reminded:_

_Sarah Walker died, and was resurrected by the touch of the Piemaker. He was kept from touching her again, and an individual attempting to steal Emerson Cod's car paid the price._

_Our dear friend Emerson Cod is currently resting comfortably in the Papen County Hospital, having undergone surgery after being shot by the men from Fulcrum._

_Charlotte Charles and Olive Snook are currently in the custody of the men from Fulcrum, having been abducted at gunpoint at the Pie Hole._

_Fulcrum has demanded that Chuck Bartowski turn himself over to them in exchange for the release of Charlotte Charles and Olive Snook._

The side door of the warehouse slowly creaked open, and Chuck Bartowski walked in – alone. "Hello?"

Fulcrum agent Francis Xavier Mullins stepped out of the shadows. "Hello, Mr. Bartowski. Are you ready to turn the Intersect over to us?"

"What makes you think I have the Intersect?"

Mullins shook his head and sighed. "Mr. Bartowski. Please, don't try my patience. Larkin didn't have it, and my agents who nearly took you a month ago are quite certain that you're in possession of it. Turn it over, and nobody will be hurt."

Chuck paused for a moment. "Alright," he finally said. "But I want to see Ms. Charles and Ms. Snook first, to make sure they're unharmed."

Frank Mullins smiled evilly. "I don't think so," he growled. "Turn over the Intersect, Mr. Bartowski, and I won't shoot you."

A gun swung up in his hand, aimed at Chuck. "Bad idea, Mr. Mullins," Chuck whispered.

A muffled rifle shot sounded, and Mullins' gun went flying out of his hand. His eyes widened.

_Unbeknownst to Mullins, hidden somewhere in the shadows of the warehouse was Major John Casey, United States Air Force, National Security Agency, and expert marksman._

"The next shot will be your head, Agent Mullins," Chuck informed him calmly.

Mullins, his face still white, whistled. A door in the back of the warehouse opened, and Two and Six dragged Charlotte Charles and Olive Snook out, with Four holding a gun to each of their backs.

"There you go, Mr. Bartowski," Mullins said, color returning to his face. "Now, the Intersect?"

Chuck shrugged. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

Mullins' eyes narrowed. "Then they die."

A shotgun ratcheted, and a smoke-tinged voice shouted, "WRONG ANSWER, ASSHOLE!"

To Mullins' astonishment and horror, an older woman, dressed in an outrageous combination of bright pinks and greens, stepped through the open door, a Winchester Super X3 shotgun pointed directly at his head. A smaller, more demure woman dressed in more muted colors followed.

"Agent Mullins," Chuck said quite calmly, "let me introduce you to Ms. Charles' aunts – Lily Charles –"

Lily aimed the shotgun at the ceiling and cranked off a round, the boom causing the three other Fulcrum agents to flinch. "Twelve rounds in 1.44 seconds!" she announced. "Don't make me test its capacity!"

"- and this is her other aunt, Vivian Charles."

"I am so sorry for my sister's rude entrance," Vivian said quietly. "But you do need to release our niece, otherwise, she'll probably blow your head off."

Mullins' jaw dropped, gaping openly at Chuck. "Are you people all out of your goddamn minds?"

Chuck shrugged. "I like to think of myself as sane."

"No, seriously!" Mullins yelled. "You're all looney toons! You're absolutely batshit crazy."

"No, they're not, Mullins," came yet another voice.

Sarah Walker walked through the door, an Uzi in either hand. "THIS is crazy."

She fired off about forty rounds into the roof, a distinctly unhinged look appearing on her face.

When she stopped firing, there was silence, only the sound of cartridges tinkling on the floor interrupting it, until –

"JESUS CHRIST, WALKER, WATCH YOUR GOD DAMN AIM!" came drifting down from above.

"Sorry, Casey."

_The gunfire hadn't just been a ploy on Sarah Walker's part to prove the crew from Los Angeles absolutely insane. Rather, it had been a distraction, during which she hoped that Charlotte Charles and Olive Snook would have the good sense to act. And they had._

"Look," Mullins shouted. "You all might be crazy, but that's not going to stop me from killing Charles and Snook –"

He gulped as he felt a gun dig into his back. "But Ms. Charles herself might stop you from killing them," Charlotte whispered in his ear.

Mullins gulped, and dropped his gun. "Alright," he said softly. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you, and your three friends, to walk out that door, and never come back," Charlotte said.

And Mullins did just that. He marched out the open door, followed by Two, Four, and Six – right into the arms of a waiting NSA strike team.

"Aw, COME ON!" he moaned as he was handcuffed and placed in the van, along with his three fellow agents.

Ned was standing next to the van as he was loaded in. "Have a good trip!" he said mockingly, as the door was closed.

Chuck and Olive had stepped outside the warehouse. "Bye now!" shouted Chuck as the van pulled away.

"Don't come back now, y'hear?!" Olive added.

John Casey, having climbed down from the rafters of the warehouse via the exterior roof access ladder, cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, "Don't drop the soap!"

* * *

With the Fulcrum agents rounded up, there was but one thing left to do – say good-bye.

And so Sarah, Chuck, and Casey headed across town to the Papen County Hospital. They bid him farewell, and wished him a speedy recovery.

Sarah thanked Ned for giving her her life back, careful not to touch him. Olive made a suggestive comment to Chuck Bartowski, earning herself a dirty look from Sarah.

As Sarah and Casey headed out to get into the car, however, Ned stopped Chuck.

"Listen," Ned told him. "Do you understand how lucky you are?"

"Well, I suppose," Chuck replied. "There are days that I don't feel that terribly lucky, though."

Ned shook his head. "Have you seen the way Sarah looks at you?"

Chuck nodded, noncommittally. "I have," he replied, "but I'm not sure I can do anything about that right now."

Ned's voice grew a little more urgent. "You have the opportunity, though," he said. "You can actually touch her, express how you feel for her through a method other than words.

"I don't have that option, which is why I have to make sure you use it."

Chuck nodded again. "Alright. I understand what you're saying, but I have to think about it."

"Don't just think, Chuck. Act. You never know if you'll see her tomorrow or not."

Chuck frowned at that last comment. "Okay."

Ned extended his hand to shake Chuck's. "Take care of yourself, and take care of her."

Chuck returned the hand shake. "I will."

* * *

The NSA van stopped at a rest stop with about one hundred miles left to go to Los Angeles.

Mullins stood and stretched. "Alright," he said, "we're here."

"Sounds good," the driver remarked. He took the keys out of the ignition, and handed them to the shotgun rider, who unlocked the cuffs and shackles on Mullins, Two, Four, and Six.

The four Fulcrum agents disembarked from the van, which began to pull away. In the NSA strike team truck, the driver noticed that the four Fulcrum men were escaping, and began to shout a warning –

Just as the strike team truck exploded.

"Do we have the device?" Mullins asked, ignoring the fireball and speaking to his men as if nothing was happening.

"Should be in our custody as soon as we reach L.A., sir."

* * *

_Chuck Bartowski had arrived home late, and then been delayed even further, having to deliver a report to General Beckman and Director Graham. But when he finally reached the bosom of his blessed bed, he slipped into a deep sleep. It was to be a blessed and extended sleep, for he had been granted the following two days – Christmas Eve and Christmas Day – off, and he didn't intend to get up until nearly noon._

_Until his phone rang at 4:59 A.M._

"What the hell," he muttered, answering the phone. "Hello?"

"Is this the Nerd Herd help line?"

"Uh… yeah…"

"Sorry to disturb you, sir, but this number was left on the voicemail of the on-call Herder."

_Lester_, he thought. _I'm gonna kill him_.

"Sir?"

"Okay," Chuck replied. "What's the situation?"

"We've got a crashed computer. Address is 14203 Chandler Boulevard, in Van Nuys."

_14203_, Chuck though committing it to memory. He looked at his watch.

"Alright," he replied. "I can be there in about half an hour."

"Thank you, sir."

_THE END…_

_Unless you choose to read on, in __**Chuck vs. the Future**_


End file.
